My 10 year old Jack Russell Terrier, Jax, is quite possibly the greatest chap, err, dog, that has ever graced this earth. He's accompanied me on long 4 hour horseback rides, sat on my lap as I've driven the horse-trailer hours to and from events, kept my bed warm (and taken up 3/4 of it) during the winter, and when it storms outside he's right beside me. Every time I come home, he props his paws on my lap and begs for my attention, giving no heed to whomever else may call his name. To him, I am numero uno. The big cheese. The Mac. The Queen B. I am his and he couldn't be any happier to be mine.
My Jax couldn't care less about the others who inhabit his abode (oh yes, he reigns supreme in the Wakefield house. Our Great Dane is his serf) when I'm around. All others can just "sod off" when there's an opportunity to bask in the glory that is me.
Well, so he says.
When my ol' Pops first brought him home, the poor pup was so terrified that he scurried up to my room and sought refuge on my bed. He was, and is still, the most adorable pup that I have ever seen. I just patted his little head and scooped him up next to me and we've been BFF from that moment on. We even eat our meals together. Just don't tell my good parents, I still think they believe I inhale all my food more quickly than my brothers. Tee hee. Ok, so they may be on to me... I mean, every time we sit down for dinner, Jax takes his proper place right by my seat, hidden slightly by the corner of the table. Usually I can slyly flick the morsel down or, if the timing is just right, I just casually drop my hand down and he'll get it. Not that I condone begging, but when it's Jax, you just can't resist those big brown puppy-dog eyes. I'm a sucker for those eyes. They just plead with me, "Sarah, love me, feed me. Feeding is love. Look deep into my eyes, don't you remember the memories we have together? All those evenings of playing fetch, how I never once tired from showing you how fast I could run, how I always let you throw that stick (insert a jaunty little wag of the tail). Remember how I've always let you rub my tummy, are you forgetting how I've always followed and protected you, I could be gone tomorrow! (his eyes flicker back to my plate) Mmm, roast beef tonight aye?"
When I come home and sit on our porch, he will yip and yelp (ever politely, he is a gentleman) until he finds me, then he'll plop down beside me and try to mesmerize me into obliging him with a long belly rub. It used to be that if I went out to the barn, he would go too. If I headed down to the woods, he would be right beside me, happily searching out any pesky woodland creatures that my disturb my trek. Now he moves more slowly and carefully, knowing that he cannot be with me like in the old days. It's still fun though to walk up and down the stairs, the little pitter-patter of his feet following me as he climbs behind me. As soon as I pull in the drive, he's right by my door, eagerly awaiting me, ever the proper host. If he's in the house being held captive by my conniving siblings, all I have to do is holler "JAX!" and he comes running. He is precious.
So, anyway, there's a reason for this post. Here is a prime example of why I love my Jax so much. This little fella exhibited all those characteristics which make up a true Jack Russell. (FYI, I am only particular to Jacks because of my Jack, I know there are plenty of other members of the canine species that do the dog justice, I just happen to have the best.)
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